


Preliminary Report

by Moonsheen



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 15:16:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3072644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonsheen/pseuds/Moonsheen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In her preliminary investigation of the city-state Kirkwall, Cassandra Pentaghast must face her first challenge: figuring out the flaming wreck that is Kirkwall's chain of command.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Preliminary Report

Kirkwall was a miserable city.

Cassandra Pentaghast tried to be fair in her assessment. The fires were under control by the time she caught a boat out to the outpost charmingly known as The Gallows, but the city had yet to fully dig out from the rubble and barricades that cluttered its strange, steep streets. Somehow, though, Cassandra could not imagine the place being especially pleasant even in its glory days. Everything was cold and wet, and the statues were unsettling – though Cassandra tried not to let that color her views on what was to come.

“Such a mess,” murmured Cassandra. From the water, the city looked a bit like someone dying of skin rot. There were visible blackened gaps in the city's skylines – the gap where the Chantry once stood was a notable scar. She turned to the templar seated at the head of the boat: a nondescript man with a Starkhaven brogue. “Tell me, who is the ranking officer at this time? _Has_ the Order named a new Knight-Commander?”

Cassandra knew from her own private research the Order had done no such thing, but it never hurt to gauge who might have aspirations on the title. The templar with her looked thoroughly confused. “Oh – no, nothing like. The Order's been a bit distracted, what with the ….situation elsewhere. I'm taking you to the Knight-Captain.”

Kirkwall's Knight-Captain was a wan, hollow-eyed man who occupied a tiny, dark little office at the far end of the Templar Hall. He barely looked up as the door opened, the desk in front of him heaped with paperwork, empty inkwells, bloodied rags, and a few small knives. He held a clipboard in one hand and a piece of red cloth in the other. The cloth was pressed firmly to his mouth.

“Knight-Captain,” said Cassandra's escort. “This is--”

The Knight-Captain sighed and glanced up over his clipboard.

“The Seeker,” he said, slurring against the pressure from the cloth on his face. As he looked up, Cassandra could see the reason for it. At some point in the very recent past, someone or something had tried to tear his face open. The cloth just barely hid the mess of it: a swollen purple lip, and the stitches barely holding the gash together. It gave him a particularly unpleasant expression, though Cassandra could not imagine him looking any more thrilled without it. “I heard you'd arrived. Don't be insulted if I don't stand to greet you. Someone lobbed a burning bottle into one of our supply carts this morning. If you were wondering: yes, stamina droughts are explosive. Yes, I caught some glass in the face and no I'm not up for a full inquiry. Rylen, get this down the docks.”

The man said all of this with very few breaths and a distinct Ferelden accent. Interesting. He threw his clipboard to the far side of the desk. His eyes briefly flicked to the knight who brought her in. This templar nodded, grabbed the board, and vanished back out the door.

“I'm not interested in conducting an inquiry,” said Cassandra. “At least, not with you.”

The man looked thoroughly unsurprised as he shifted the cloth on his face. “Knight-Commander Meredith won't be answering your questions.”

“I was given that impression,” said Cassandra. “I wish to speak with a member of one of the noble houses of Kirkwall. It is official Chantry business.”

The Knight-Captain gave her a withering look. Cassandra raised her chin, and matched it with her own. She'd traveled a long way, and she wasn't about to let some bad-tempered mid-level former crony hinder her pursuit. “Then go to Hightown. You don't need my permission for that.”

“I've been to Kirkwall's Hightown,” said Cassandra, “Your men stopped me at the gates.”

The Knight-Captain pulled a sheet of paper out from the pile in front of him. He pulled his quill from under one of his bloodied cloths. “Which house and why?”

“Amell. And I must speak with the current head of the estate.”

That got her a reaction. The templar flinched at the name. Not a simple flicker of recognition, a genuine jerk, as though recoiling from injury. Odd response, but a telling one. “You're out of luck,” he said, in a husky, bloody rumble. “No by that name has held that estate for over twenty years.”

“Then the city has kept the house quite well preserved,” remarked Cassandra.

“That's the Hawke Estate,” said the Knight-Captain. “And it is off limits, pending an official investigation.”

“Pending the Chantry's official investigation.”

“Pending the _City Guard's_ investigation of the _madman_ who _murdered the Grand Cleric._ Which I would have _thought_ to be of some interest to you, ” snarled the templar. He regretted it immediately, he sat back, pressing at his face with the back of one gloved hand. The cloth was soaked through. Cassandra unhitched one of the potion she kept on her belt. She offered it to him, along with her handkerchief. He made a low, angry noise – but he took it. He kicked back the potion in one long wincing gulp. A good third of it sloshed down the side of his maimed face.

“Have all of Kirkwall's mages fled?” asked Cassandra, when the man's breathing leveled back out.

The Knight-Captain nodded. He went back to writing.

“I sympathize with your position here,” said Cassandra. “I have read the reports. The murder of the Grand Cleric and the destruction of the Chantry are events that are important to my investigation. But at this time it is not the mission to which I have been appointed. You are Ferelden, so I believe you may have already guessed why I am here.”

“I have an idea.” The Knight-Captain sighed. “But I'm not lying to you. There may be one or two of that family left in this city. But none... none who'd be of much help to you, I think.”

“Has the Warden been here or not?”

Hearing it so plainly, the Knight-Captain managed the barest of scoffs. It came out half a snort, half a cough. "Certainly. When she was _ten_ , maybe." 

"And you're sure? There is absolutely no one left here that she might call on?" 

"No one," said the Knight-Captain, flatly. He picked up the sheet of paper and handed it to her. “But since I know you'll doubt me, show this to the Seneschal in the Keep. He knows more about the residents of the city than I do.”

Cassandra took the sheet, folded it in two, and tucked it in her belt. “Thank you,” she said, almost surprised to discover it had been so easy. She hadn't guessed he'd cooperate so readily.

The Knight-Captain curled what was left of his lip. “Don't. He has less patience than me,” he said. A messenger stumbled into the office, smelling strongly of smoke.

“Knight-Captain,” said the young messenger. “We've brought in some of the escaped apostates. Ser Agatha wants to know where you want us to move them. The cell block or...?”

The Knight-Captain raised his eyebrows. “Good day, Seeker.”

Cassandra turned and left.

The Knight-Captain's response to his messenger followed Cassandra into the hall: “...oh, yes. Because _that_ will convince them we're not out for their blood. Take them to the second floor audience rooms. Tell them they'll get a hearing, and Maker's sake don't threaten them, we don't need any more abominations in the _halls_...”


End file.
